Touching
by Whispered Winters
Summary: Soul x Maka (pure cute fluffy with a little bit of lime at the end. ish.) Soul and Maka liked to touch.


**A/N: More SoMa. I'm not even sorry, oh my gosh ahaha. This is practically pure fluff, no shame, no lie because I really love Touching!SoMa. It makes my heart flutter, hehe. So here, quick fluff and love, a little lime at the end, not much. R&R please! :)**

Maka and Soul liked to touch.

They were always close, physically. In public their desires were watered down, sating themselves with fingertips brushing against one another and legs pressed close as they sat. Soul would sling an arm over her shoulder, playing absentmindedly with her hair or skimming his fingers over her collarbone just to make his presence known to her. Maka would lay a head on his shoulder and close her eyes, the weight comforting to Soul. She would shudder beneath his touch and long for the time that they would be able to go home.

At home, boundaries were practically erased. They would shower, eat and then he would lay on the couch to turn on a show that he barely cared about in some shorts and a t-shirt. She would drape herself over him, her body a blanket as she nuzzled into his neck, lips barely brushing the soft skin. He would gulp and think, _fuck_, because he couldn't touch her quite the way he wanted. But to ease his desires, his arms would find their way around her, usually one draped over her back and the other on her thigh. His long fingers would trace patterns onto her skin, sometimes finding its way underneath her tank top to brush the pad of his thumb across her silky skin.

Sometimes they held hands. Souls hands were large, his fingers long and elegant. She would turn his hands back and forth in her, tracing her own delicate digits across the lines of his palm. He would do the same to the callouses on her worked hands sadly, knowing it was partly his fault. Whenever Maka saw that sad look in his eyes, she would kiss his fingertips and press his warm palms to her face. Grateful, Soul kisses her cheek but not her lips because that was a line he dared not to cross.

She would always fall asleep first. Makas soft snore would alert him and he would pick her up, maneuvering skillfully as to not awaken her. Soul would carry her to her room and set her down in the comforters, awkwardly putting them on her. Sometimes, when Maka was feeling particularly lonely she would grab the edge of Souls tshirt before he could turn to leave. She would look up at him with mossy green eyes, glazed over with fatigue and say, "Stay." He would because he could never say no to his meister and though Soul was much more needy for Maka, he would never allow himself to ask her because it just wasn't cool. Maka knew this, and that's why she was always the one to tell him to stay.

He would strip off his shirt and climb into bed, careful where he put his hands. She wouldn't move for him, instead she would squish herself to his body entangling their limbs. Maka found away to press herself to him head to toe, her head tucked neatly under his chin. Soul would whisper goodnight and kiss the top of her head. She would kiss whatever skin her lips could touch.

The mornings would be hazy, sunlight streaming through her half closed blinds. In the night they would untangle because Maka was a turner and Soul would be the first to wake because he loved the goddamn view. Her hair would be golden, lit up from the suns rays and she would have the blankets wrapped around her legs. Her bare skin was so pure, so touchable in the morning light all exposed and there for him to kiss. Her shirt would ride up, showing that sweet stomach and her legs would go on forever, long and lanky and beautiful.

Soul would watch for a moment, murmur_ shit_ underneath his breath because he knew he was smitten before reaching over and pulling her back to him, not really caring about morning breath. He'd kiss her bare shoulder, tell her to wake up and she would mumble a few incomprehensible things before allowing her eyes to open. She'd find Soul so close, red eyes gazing at her. At this close proximity she could see the black irises of his eyes and the snow white lashes that framed it. They were so delicate like frost that threaded to melt away from the heat that came with her breath. Maka would yearn to kiss his lips, say good morning with her body but she did not dare to cross that line.

It was best when it was a weekend. They would practically be attached at the hips, twenty four seven. She'd stand at the kitchen making lunch and he'd be behind her, hands clasped protectively around her waist as his chin rest on her shoulder. Sometimes she'd shoo him away so she could cook in peace, most of the time his warmth was too intoxicating for her to say anything at all. They would sit on the couch after lunch, stomachs full and happy thoughts drifting through their head. Soul would plug in his headphones as Maka cracked open a new hard cover she had been dying to read. They'd occupy the space on the couch together, Souls feet up in the coffee table as Makas were on his lap. His head would be back, tapping a rhythm into the skin of Makas bare calves.

It hurt when they were on a mission. Soul would be full of aches and pains, a few scratches here and there while Maka would be caked with kishin blood, muscles sore and so tired she would barely be able to speak. So he moved for her, spoke for her, dressed her wounds for her, did it all for her. Stripped Maka of her dirty clothes, down to her underwear and tank top. Soul would wash her bloody hair at the hotel sink with shitty hospital soap, watching the dirty liquid go down the drain as her hair returned back to its former golden glory. He'd sit her down on the bed and towel dry her hair. After she was clean and he was halfway decent Soul would hold her so tight that breathing was a difficulty for the both of them.

Maka would be straddling him as he sat on the bed, arms wrapped around her tiny little waist to the point where he could almost touch himself. He'd breathe her in, head in the crook of her neck and allow himself a little vulnerability as he told her how stupid she was. How reckless and thoughtless she was. How beautiful and wonderful and perfect she was and how she needed, how HE needed for her to be more fucking careful. And Mala would whisper into his hair, _yes, I know_'s and small little_ I'm sorry_'s to satisfy his ever aching worry. She'd kiss his worried face, everywhere from his forehead to his jaw to try and show him that she was right there. She would always be right there.

Then it changed. Maka had been dragged into a blind date by Liz for her eighteenth birthday. It had lasted a pitiful two hours and she had left the moment he kissed her and tried to shove his tongue down her throat. Maka came home, in tears, saying she felt so gross after the kiss and she cried into Souls shoulder as she told him how sad she was because everyone else was dating and she couldn't. She didn't know why the date had felt so wrong but maybe it was because it was a stranger in front of her and not Soul and Maka could barely breathe as she told Soul that she thinks she was going to be alone forever because she loved him and no one else.

Soul was mad and jealous and happy. Mad at Liz for setting Maka up, mad at the boy that tool Makas first kiss that was rightfully his, mad at himself for not realizing what his jealousy meant. Happy because Maka told him she loves him and it wasn't the i-love-you-soul-you're-the-best kind of love, it was the i-love-you-so-fucking-much-soul-i-can't-even-kiss- another-mankind of love. It made his heart burst and flutter and thump and his brain incapable of making good decisions.

That night he dragged her into his bed, not allowing her to shower or change. He brushed away the tears, kissed her wet lashes and left a trail of the same kisses all the way to her lips. And when Soul kissed her it didn't feel wrong or bad or horrid the way it did with the other guy. It felt right and loving and beautiful and it washed away the bad taste of cheap champagne from her mouth.

He loved her all through the night, touching flesh that was once taboo and kissing all the skin he never saw before. His teeth raked red marks across her breasts as her fingers dealt the same damage to his back. She tasted sweet, making music better than any fine musician he knew of. It was his first time and her first time but it was wonderful, all pain and pleasure and lust and love. Surprisingly he didn't finish first, she did. Again and again, and then one more time because Maka was just that damn sensitive and when he finally did he collapsed because honestly, sex was a lot more tiring than he expected it to be.

Maka and Soul found a new way to touch.


End file.
